The Piano Man
by Quackers McPherson
Summary: Sing us a song, you're the piano man. Sing us a song tonight... McKinley High gets a new pianist. She's spunky, straightforward, and a little strange but she melds with the Glee Club and becomes invaluable, in more than one way.


**Hey, everybody. This is my first dabble in a Glee story. I've recently become taken with the show and decided to give it a whirl. I really hope you like it and any kind of feedback would be great. To the Wemma shippers out there, I'm with you. I agree they should be together, but this particular character is insistent that she gets her moment to shine. I could be persuaded to do some Wemma work, though. ;D**

**For the record, Glee isn't mine and neither is any of the quoted material. They belong to people much more successful than me. **

**The Piano Man: Sing Us A Song**

* * *

The clock in my car's stereo system read 8:14 am. My interview wasn't until 10:30 and I was already sitting in the parking lot of the school. I didn't want to go back home because of a nagging fear that I would lose track of time and accidentally miss the appointment. So, with more than two hours to kill, I kicked back in the front seat, rolled down the windows, and turned on the radio.

"-guide your morning in the right direction with a hit from the 80's," the voice on the radio announced.

The audio dropped out, only to be replaced with a familiar song.

_"~Turn around,_  
_Every now and then_  
_I get a little bit lonely_  
_and you're never coming 'round_  
_Turn around,_  
_Every now and then_  
_I get a little bit tired_  
_of listening to the sound of my tears~"_

I quickly whipped around and snatched up my compact keyboard from the backseat. I flicked the switch and began playing along with the radio. The sound quality was tinny and my fingers were cramped together, but the magic of music relieved all my nervous tension, finally allowing me to relax. Fingers loosely dancing across the keys, I added vocals into the mix.

_"~And I need you now tonight_  
_And I need you more than ever_  
_And if you'll only hold me tight_  
_We'll be holding on forever_  
_And we'll only be making it right_  
_Cause we'll never be wrong together_  
_We can take it to the end of the line_  
_Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time_  
_I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark_  
_We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks_  
_I really need you tonight_  
_Forever's gonna start tonight_  
_Forever's gonna start tonight~"_

Thinking I was alone, I let my voice ring out across the lot. I'd always been a fan of Bonnie Tyler. My older sister had it blasting through our house during most of my formative years.

I continued to perform until the song was over and I was indescribably thirsty. Taking a swig from my water bottle, I stretched my fingers while a less interesting song began. I rolled my shoulders back and adjusted the seat so that I was reclining slightly.

Another song from my childhood replaced the boring one. I should clarify; its' debut was before I was alive but my parents liked to reminisce about the days where they were 'hip'. Therefore they exposed my siblings and me to music from their pre-parenting days.

My fingers picked up the tune and began playing along while my vocals were delayed while I struggled to remember the words.

_"~You can do anything you want to do_  
_It's not wrong what I sing it's true_  
_You can do anything you want to do_  
_Do what you want to~"_

I choked back a laugh at how appropriate this song was in consideration of my most current undertaking. That thought dredged up a memory from my first year at the Conservatory. One of my favorite professors, and one of the most eccentric men I've ever met in my life, taught music like a religion. He even presented us with a list of tenets.

Number one: there is a song for every situation.

Number two: if you can't think of one, you're either not trying hard enough or you're simply incompetent.

As it stands, I've never come across a situation without a fitting song. I made a mental note to email Professor LeBlanc if things worked out today. He would find my encounter with Thin Lizzy's "Do Anything You Want To" highly entertaining.

A glance at the clock revealed that it was barely passed 8:30. I shifted the keyboard into the passenger seat and laid my head on the headrest, resting my eyes. I let the music flow from the radio and into my pores, like a deep-hydrating lotion.

I remained motionless for a while, enjoying the tranquility. Once I cracked my eye to check the time. It wasn't quite 9, so I relaxed and continued to allow the music to carry me away.

I nearly fell asleep. As the familiar sensation rushed over me, I jerked myself into a sitting position. It would be unthinkable if I passed out right be for my interview. Best case scenario, I'd be groggy and mess up horrendously during the practical portion. Worst case scenario, I'd sleep through the whole thing.

Closing the windows, I grabbed my messenger bag and locked the car. It was a bit after 9:30, but I couldn't risk sitting in the car for much longer. I figured that I might as well explore the school.

It was an older building, most likely constructed in the early seventies. However, the land had been well maintained, and it looked as if a few more modern additions had been added since construction. A group of boys were running around the track behind the school. It was a nice day for it, too. Late October was a beautiful time in Ohio.

Walking around to the front of the building, I grin at the giant banner reading "Welcome Back, Bulldogs!" Obviously, no one bothered to take it down even though school had been in session for more than a month. I entered the building through the thick, glass doors.

The clerk eyed me as I approached the desk.

"Hello, I'm Alessandra Castelletti. I have an appointment with Mr. Figgins."

The sour-faced woman scanned a list in front of her.

"Your appointment isn't until 10:30," she stated, voice flat.

I put on my most polite smile.

"I know. I'm a little early."

She stared at me blankly.

"May I have a visitor's pass, please?"

She was completely unresponsive. It was like they were employing coma patients rather than secretaries.

"I need to use the facilities. May I have a visitor's pass, _please_?" I asked, struggling to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

She blinked. This was a good sign. She slowly leaned forward, pushed a few buttons on the computer and, a few moments later, she handed me a printed badge with my name on it. I smiled my thanks and passed through the connecting doors to enter the main building.

The halls were decorated in various combinations of red, black, and white. Lockers lined the hall as well as posters and trophy cases from various sporting events, like any other high school. I made quick use of the restrooms as they were atrociously maintained. It was as if the building was being used to house animals or prison inmates rather than young adults.

Business taken care of, I proceeded to explore what I hoped would be my new place of employment. I walked along the main hallway, passing several English classes, a few science classes and a class I assumed was history, since 90% of the students had their heads down.

As luck would have it, I stumbled upon the music room. Well, a music room. It was too small to house a full band or orchestra, but just the right size for a choir. There was a beautiful, black, baby grand piano in the center of the room. My next action may not have been wise but the instrument called to me. It was in perfect shape: impeccably maintained or rarely used. Either way, I approached the instrument as one would approach a timid animal. I ran my hand over the closed lid and closed my eyes. Each piano has a unique feel, even mass manufactured ones.

In one impulsive moment, I snapped the lid prop into place and took a seat on the piano bench. I tapped my finger tips on the keys without applying pressure, warming them up. I doubled checked my watch; it was only 9:56. I had plenty of time. Just like that, I launched into song.

_"~It's nine o'clock on a Saturday_  
_The regular crowd shuffles in_  
_There's an old man sitting next to me_  
_Makin' love to his tonic and gin_

_He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory_  
_I'm not really sure how it goes_  
_But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete_  
_When I wore a younger man's clothes.'_

_La la la, di da da_  
_La la, di di da da dum~"_

I'm making a concerted effort to keep my voice down since I realize there are classrooms around me. Despite this, I noticed someone must have heard me as soon as a rich, tenor voice harmonizes with mine for the chorus.

_"~Sing us a song, you're the piano man_  
_Sing us a song tonight_  
_Well, we're all in the mood for a melody_  
_And you've got us all feelin' alright~"_

Rule number three, courtesy of Professor LeBlanc: don't stop playing once you've started lest the situation is a dire one. That said, I didn't even turn around. Apparently my partner knew the rules too, since he didn't attempt to chastise me.

_"~Now John at the bar is a friend of mine_  
_He gets me my drinks for free_  
_And he's quick with a joke and he'll light up your smoke_  
_But there's some place that he'd rather be_  
_He says, 'Bill, I believe this is killing me.'_  
_As his smile ran away from his face_  
_'Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star_  
_If I could get out of this place.'_

_Oh, la la la, di da da_  
_La la, di da da da dum_

_Now Paul is a real estate novelist_  
_Who never had time for a wife_  
_And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy_  
_And probably will be for life_

_And the waitress is practicing politics_  
_As the businessman slowly gets stoned_  
_Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness_  
_But it's better than drinkin' alone_

_Sing us a song, you're the piano man_  
_Sing us a song tonight_  
_Well, we're all in the mood for a melody_  
_And you've got us all feelin' alright_

_It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday_  
_And the manager gives me a smile_  
_'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see_  
_To forget about their life for a while_  
_And the piano, it sounds like a carnivore_  
_And the microphone smells like a beer_  
_And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar_  
_And say, 'Man, what are you doin' here?'_

_Oh, la la la, di da da_  
_La la, di da da da dum_

_Sing us a song, you're the piano man_  
_Sing us a song tonight_  
_Well, we're all in the mood for a melody_  
_And you've got us all feelin' alright~"_

As the last notes fade, I swiveled around to face my partner. He was boyishly handsome, late twenties or early thirties. He had very curly brown hair, chocolate-colored eyes, and an expression of bemusement mixed with admiration. His blue, button down shirt was rolled up to the elbows, his blue-and-white striped tie was slightly crooked, and one leg of his ironed khaki slacks was tucked into his brown loafers. Leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed against his chest, he looked at me expectantly.

"Hey, how's it going?" I asked cheekily.

Another potentially unwise decision, especially if this turned out to be Principal Figgins.

"I wasn't aware we hired a replacement pianist," he said.

It wasn't an accusation. He was curious.

"You haven't, I assume. Not yet, anyway. My meeting with Mr. Figgins is in…" I glanced at my watch, "eighteen minutes."

"So you were just… hanging out?"

"Sure, let's go with that."

Personally, I would have called it snooping or trespassing or being downright disruptive but I liked his version better.

"Well, for the record, I hope you get the job. We could use someone with your talent."

I smiled and tipped my imaginary hat to the man. It was an undoubtedly corny gesture but I was just that kind of person. Either way, it elicited a lighthearted chuckle from the man at the door. He turned to leave but stopped himself.

"I never got your name."

"I thought it was obvious. I'm the piano man."

I could tell he was debating whether or not he should contest this answer. After all, I was a stranger banging away on a piano that wasn't mine in the middle of a school day. I guess he came to the conclusion that I wasn't much of a threat because he just smiled and walked away. I was smiling too. It was a most interesting interaction.

Noticing I had a little less than six minutes to make it into Figgins' office, I grabbed my bag, shut the piano and walked out the open door. I made a mental note to shut the door next time before giving an impromptu concert in the middle of a high school.

I popped back into the bathroom to examine myself in a mirror. I didn't want to look like I'd just spent the last two hours sleeping my car. My very long, very thick, hay-colored hair was hanging straight, a simple black headband keeping my bangs from falling into my eyes. Ice blue eyes looked back at me from behind thin, wire-rimmed glasses. My teeth were clean but not ivory white and they were straight enough but not flawlessly aligned. My makeup was minimal but tastefully done. I wasn't so vain to think that it wouldn't help, but I was too indifferent to care. I straightened my simple, black dress and pulled on the cream-colored sweater I'd been keeping in my bag. Plain, black flats finished the outfit.

I ran a hand through my hair, let out a breath, and exited the restroom. I followed the twisting hallway until, at the very end, I saw a glass office with "Principal" engraved in the door. It was 10:29. I couldn't have planned it any better if I'd tried.

I put on my best "I am a professional" face and knocked on the door. The small, Indian man at the desk beckoned me forward so I opened the door and stepped inside. The man stood up, shook my hand and introduced himself as Principal Figgins. He then motioned for me to take a seat.

His office was packed with books. Two floor-to-ceiling shelves lined both sides as well as one against the back wall. His desk was cluttered with papers and a few pictures of his family.

"Now, Miss…"

"Castelletti. Alessandra Castelletti."

"Yes," the principal continued. "Miss Castelletti. You-"

He was interrupted by the opening of the door. The man from the music room slipped through the door and slid into the seat next to me.

"Ah, yes. There you are, William. We were just getting started," the principal said dryly. "This is Miss Alessandra Castelletti, our prospective pianist. Apparently, the music department has been in dire straits since Brad left. I find it hard to believe that no one around here can play a piano…"

"Principal Figgins, we need a professional," William protested.

"Your glee club could just use a recording. But, since the band and orchestra seem to need a warm body, I suppose I have no choice…"

Principal Figgins appeared to be regretful that he had to hire someone. However, that sure as hell wasn't going to stop me from taking the job if I could get it. I looked from the principal, who was muttering incoherently, to this Will character, who was rubbing his temples. This must have been an argument they had had before.

I cleared my throat. Two sets of eyes directed themselves at me.

"Right then," the principal said.

I watched him leaf over my resume without reading it. The principal sighed and tossed the packet of papers to William.

"I don't even know what to look for. The orchestra director has a class and the band director is out sick with laryngitis or hepatitis or something... I'm going to go grab a coffee. It's up to you, Schue."

The man ambled out of the room and in the direction of the door marked "Teacher's Lounge", leaving me alone with William. He said nothing as he paged through my credentials. Finally, after several minutes of intense review, he looked up at me incredulously.

"You graduated from Julliard with a Graduate degree in piano. Wh-"

He choked a little bit.

"Why William McKinley High School? More importantly, why Lima, Ohio? With this kind of record you could so anywhere and do anything."

I sighed. It seemed like wherever I went, I always got that kind of response.

"Listen, most of my peers at Julliard were so in love with the thought of fame that it ruined them. They became so competitive, so driven that they forgot why they were playing. I understand competition. It forces you to live up to your potential but you should never lose sight of your reasons for trying. Julliard paid for my education and I'm not terribly materialistic so there's no incentive for me to find a high paying job. William, if there's anything you should know about me, it's this: all I want to do is play the piano."

He didn't have anything to say to my impassioned rant. Honestly, I didn't know how to follow that up because I'd never been so eloquent in my life and anything that came after would sound like gibberish.

He stared at me for what felt like hours. To my surprise, he laughed.

"Finally someone understands! That's why I went into teaching. My wife doesn't understand. She thinks I should go into accounting. I've got a knack for numbers but they're so inflexible. Numbers don't have a personality you can nurture and you can't look back years later and say, 'Wow, I was part of their development and look where they are now.' I don't care about the dismal pay or the general lack of appreciation. Teaching is its own reward."

It took all my self-control not to hug this man in front of me. My parents, even my grandparents, were continually harassing me for not "making more of myself". They didn't stop to consider that maybe this was all I needed to be happy.

"Shoot," the man said, checking the clock on the wall. "I've got a class in five minutes. Can you hang around? I really want you to stay for glee practice after school."

"Sure. Does that mean I got the job?"

"With that kind of passion, I would have given you my job," he chuckled.

"What do you teach?"

"Spanish."

"Ha ha ha… that would go over about as well as a blind surgeon."

He snorted. We started walking away from the office.

"I'll meet you back in the music room at lunch. Don't cause too much trouble."

"I'll do my best."

He left me at the door of the music room. Before he'd gotten too far, I called out to him.

"Wait! I never actually got your name."

"I'm Will. Will Schuester. Nice to meet you, Piano Man."

I could have sworn he winked before he turned the corner, but at that distance I'll never know for sure.


End file.
